


Suptober2020

by SPNFinalSeason (TheMightiestPen)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s01e12 Faith, Episode: s01e18 Something Wicked, Fic Challenge, Gen, Pre-Canon, Psychic Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Has Powers, Season 3, Soulless Sam Winchester, Suptober 2020 (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 14,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26860450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightiestPen/pseuds/SPNFinalSeason
Summary: A series of 31 separate stories based on prompts for the month of October.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. On the Road Again

**Author's Note:**

> Summary: the first step onto the road of duty is a difficult one. But they have no choice but to go down it.

**Henry**

“Excited?” his mom asks.

Henry nods. The feeling in his stomach…he can’t tell if it’s excitement or nerves, but he knows which one will make his mom feel better.

His mom beams, patting his cheek. “Look at you,” she says. “My boy. Eighteen, and ready for this first factfinding trip as an official Man of Letters. I’m so, so proud of you.”

Henry smiles back, holding her hand to his face. Even if he doesn’t feel it, he’s _going_ to be ready. For her and for the cause he’s trained for his whole life. Knowledge is his soul and information is his lifeblood, and he’s going to use them to save the world. He _is_.

It’s official. He’s a Man of Letters now.

**Samuel**

The gun feels heavy in his arms. He shifts his weight, trying to find the balance of it like he’s been taught.

“Hey, boy” His father says, glowering down at him. “None of that, now. Stand tall, stand confident. That’s the only way you’re going to stay alive out there. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” Samuel says, doing his best not to fidget further. It’s not worth the belt to do it.

His father grunts in lieu of praise, and turns back around. “We’re out in 10,” he informs his son, rifling through his duffel bag, checking the straps and pockets. “It’s time you go out there for a real first hunt. I’ve been taking it easy on you, my father gave me my first exorcism long before I hit nine.”

Samuel doesn’t know what to say to this, so he stays silent.

“This generation is so soft,” he father continues, not noticing his son’s lack of response. “But I suppose that’s the curse of hunting. The more tools we develop, the weaker that we become. But, boy, never forget…”

And here, the words are so reliable, so familiar that Samuel can practically follow them with his finger like he does with his dad’s old books: “Campbells carry on, no matter what.”

**John**

Salt? Check. Holy water? Check. Gun? Check.

Okay. He’s got everything. He’s ready to go, just needs to load up the car and-

_Shit._

John turns back around and grabs the bullets sitting on the table. Gun would be useless without them.

 _Forgetting the bullets before the first hunt_ , He chides himself, shaking his head. _What good are you going to be if you forget something so basic? How are you actually going to do this if you don’t pay attention to the details?_

He hears a small shuffling sound and turns to see his son sidle into the room, giving him a silent stare. Dean doesn’t talk much nowadays, but his gaze is clear in its fear and confusion.

John’s heart sinks. “Hey, buddy,” he says softly, thinking to kneel but deciding against it. “What’re you doing up?”

Dean stays silent, and stares up at him with large, watery eyes.

“Come on, kiddo,” John says, reaching out a hand, but before he can continue another set of footsteps sound and Missouri rounds the corner into the spare room. She’s not alone: in her arms, little Sammy is snoozing, absolutely dead to the world.

“Dean,” Missouri says, making eye contact with John. “Come here. It’s time to go to bed, I promise you’ll see your daddy in the morning.”

Dean gives her a backwards glance, but refocuses on John and doesn’t move. John closes his eyes, trying his best not to let himself stay. If he doesn’t go now, he never will.

“Dean,” he tries again. “I’ll be back soon, okay? In the meantime, I need you to be a good boy for me. I need you to look after Sammy for me until I get back, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Dean blinks again and John’s heart sinks further. Before he can try again, Dean whirls around and makes his way to Missouri, but his eyes are fixed on a new target: his little brother, still asleep in her arms. He gets to Missouri’s side, the closest he can get to Sam, and plants himself there.

John nods at him, trying his best to not let the tears get to his eyes. “Good boy,” he tells him, and then adds. “I’ll come back really really soon. I promise. You won’t even notice that I’m gone.”

He gives another nod to Missouri before turning to the door, gripping his duffle bag tightly. _You’re an adult_ , he tells himself firmly. _You’re not afraid. You can do this._

And with a final prayer for Mary, he walks out the door and into the hunt.

**Mary**

“It’s time,” her dad says.

It’s not like she wasn’t expecting it, but twelve-year-old Mary Winchester’s heart sinks right into her boots. She’s been warned her whole life that a hunter’s life started at age twelve, but she’d still been stupidly hoping that her dad had forgotten.

But she’s not that lucky. She’s never been that lucky.

Her dad presents her with her .45, handle first. “You keep this with you at all times now,” he explains, as she takes it and holds it in a familiar grip. “I’m not responsible for it anymore. You are.”

 _Oh, great_. She thinks. _I wish I wasn’t._

There’s a lot of things she wishes. She wishes she wasn’t born a Campbell, who carry on no matter what. She wishes, despite what her family and friends say, that her dad actually did care that she was his daughter, that he did treat her differently because she was a girl. Her dad sees her as a Campbell first and she wishes she could’ve taken advantage of the world’s view on women. But she can’t. She might as well be his son.

“It’s a ghost,” Her dad says, “Get your stuff, we leave in 10.”

**Dean**

“You got everything?”

Dean nods, zipping his duffel closed. His heart thuds, but he tries to not let it show.

“You got bullets for your gun?” His dad clarifies, leaning in, trying to peer into his bag.

“Yes, sir,” Dean responds and stops there. Even at 13, he usually has a witty retort for everything. Not this time.

Of course, his dad notices. His dad notices everything.

“You okay, Dean?” His dad asks, and Dean’s head shots up, suddenly afraid.

“No!” He says, _too emotional_ , _too revealing_. “I’m fine, sir, I promise. I’m ready.”

Dad just looks at him, looks right through him. “You know,” he says, tone soft. “It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay not to be ready. You know, if you want to push this back further, I’m sure Sam would appreciate…”

“No!” Dean interrupts, heart going even faster. “No. I wanna do it. I wanna go. I’ve always wanted to go. I’m ready.”

Dean’s dad looks at him some more, and Dean stares right in back, willing his brain to get rid of the fear that he knows is in there.

“Fine,” Dad says, and Dean feels the rush of that victory, even if the fear keeps on beating in the back of his head. “Okay. I’ll be right here, okay? Just like we’ve been practicing. You’ll be fine.”

 _I’ll be fine_ , Dean thinks, and repeats it all the way to the car.

**Sam**

His dad gives him an expectant look. “You ready?”

Sam opens his mouth but his brother beats him to it. “Course he is!” Dean says brightly. “Maybe I was way cooler at thirteen than short stack over here, but…”

Sam shoves at his brother, scowling “Hey!” He says, indignant. “I’m not short!”

“Boys,” Dad says, tone biting. “This is serious, now. Sam, are you sure you’re ready?”

Sam wants to respond with “what do you think?” so bad but he doesn’t. It’s just gonna cause a fight and Dad will yell and Dean will get upset and it’s just not worth it. He put it off as long as he could, but he’s almost fourteen and Dean started at thirteen, and he can’t push it back any longer.

“Sure,” he finally says, accepting his fate but making it known that he wasn’t ecstatic about it. “Let’s go.”

“That’s my boy,” Dean says, slapping his shoulder. “Stick with me, it’ll all be fine, okay? You’ll be fine.”

Dad just nods, giving him a piercing look. “Just like we practiced,” He says, and it takes everything in Sam not to scream then and there.


	2. Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming back to earth in two different ways

**2008**

He comes back with a vengeance.

The first breath he takes is a gasp, because it has to be: he’s trapped, trapped tightly, there’s wood right under him and right above him and he can’t breathe, can’t breathe…

Say what you want about Hell, but Hell is wide-open. It’s vast, expansive, never-ending. This isn’t Hell.

Dean lashes out once, twice, three times, feeling the wood tap splinters into his knuckles ( _the pain, the pain is different too, he’s out, he’s out!_ ) before it gives, and the softness of the dirt envelops his fist like a welcoming hug.

But it’s too much, too fast: the sudden return of his tactile senses is overwhelming, and he needs to get out of there.

He flails right into the dirt with all he’s got: it’s raining down on his eyes and his mouth but he can’t stop, he’s gotta keep going ( _even though the dirt feels cool on his skin, almost comforting_ ) and after what feels like hours or minutes his hands scoop into nothing and a light beams down from above, and Dean probably cried a little after that.

His digging increases in frequency and an arm emerges, followed by a face and torso and Dean’s back, he’s _back_ , and once his entire body has ascended he flops right back down onto solid ground, feeling the sun beat down om his face and the grass cooling his cheek.

He’ll get back up in a second but for right now, he’s just going to exist on earth again, just for a moment.

**2010**

He comes back not with a bang, but with a whimper.

One moment he was in Hell, in the recesses so deep that not even demons ventured there, and the next he was kneeling in the dirt, clutching the wet mud in his hands as a misty rain descended upon him.

With a strange sort of clarity, Sam knows right away that he was out. He looks up at the sky, blinking away the water in his eyes, and takes a deep breath, and then another.

Yes. This is real. The air doesn’t taste like this in Hell.

He slowly makes his way to his feet, wiping his muddy hands on his jeans. He squints at the graveyard, wondering how he got here and what to do now.

Logically, he knows he wasn’t in there nearly long enough. What the hell had happened? How was he here now, water running down his hair and mud all over his jeans?

Sam waits for it to hit him, to overwhelm him with relief and joy and release that he was out, that he had made it, that he was okay.

It doesn’t happen.

 _Huh_ , Sam thinks, and starts to walk towards the entrance of the graveyard. Might as well get out of here, he’s sure to feel it eventually.


	3. Demonic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment in which a demon is born

At first, there’s pain.

There’s actually a rack there…she doesn’t know why she didn’t think there would be. But it’s there, and she’s there, suspended in a long line of similarly damned souls, filled with screaming that never, never stops. She can feel it holding her up, but the physicality of it is nebulous, almost an afterthought, like everything else is down here.

She hadn’t been told that this was going to be part of it. She should’ve known, but she refused to think on it further.

She looks up to see a familiar sick grin. “You going to say it now?”

Almost out of habit, she shakes her head, mouth firmly shut. It is forced open by the scream of her own moments later.

* * *

Next, there’s regret.

When she screamed out the “yes!”, she was released and a whip was shoved into her arms with a grin.

“You know what to do,” the demon who’d been torturing her says, mouth stretched to show every tooth. “You’ve seen it enough by now.”

She has. She does. But she doesn’t want to.

At this point it’s them or her, so she untangles the whip into a firm grasp and follows where the demon takes her in a daze. It’s the first time that she hasn’t been hurting in years, it feels almost alien now.

“Here,” he says, stopping in front of a soul (a man), staring at her expectantly. “You can begin.”

She lifts the whip, and ( _quickly, get it over with_ ) starts lashing, hearing the familiar sound of screaming but this time she’s the one that’s causing it. Her own tears fall in concert with the man’s but she doesn’t think he notices.

“Good,” the demon says, over the sounds of the screaming. “Now keep going, or you join him again.”

* * *

Then, there’s pleasure.

It’s been a few decades. Or centuries, she can’t really tell. Time feels different on this side of it. When she was on the rack, she felt every minute. Here? It goes by quickly, like a dream.

She doesn’t have to be told to hurt anymore. She doesn’t even stick to just the plain old whip. As long as there’s pain, she has the space to be creative, to have a little fun with it. At first, she designs ways that’ll make it easier to bear for the person in front of her. But mercy is boring, and mercy for years is even more boring, and eventually it gets to the point where she can just move on to the next one the faster they break. So, she comes up with different things: fire, knives, swords, and her supervisors seem pleased with her progress.

“You’re good,” she’s told, time and time again. “Your numbers are through the roof. I think you’ll find yourself up for promotion really soon.”

It’s enough to make her smile again.

* * *

Finally, there’s love.

Lillith approaches her, smiling as she pours boiling water on the poor bastard who’s in front of her. She stands and waits, watching water hit skin, hearing the inevitable screams that emerge as a result.

“You’re good,” Lillith tells her, and she feels a glow of pride. With Lillith, it just means more. “And you have great potential. I’ve been watching you, and you’re smart, creative, and quick on your feet. I’m going to trust you with a mission. It’s going to be the most important mission of your life, and I need to know if you can handle it.”

She feels a pulse of excitement, of bloodlust. “Yes! Absolutely, yes.”

“If you fail,” Lillith’s voice takes a warning tone. “You’ll go right back on the rack. Is that clear?”

“Clear,” she replies. “I want to do it. I want to go.”

Lillith smiles again. “Wonderful,” she waves in a low-level demon, who scrambled to take over the pot of boiling water. “I’ll give you the details, if you just follow me.”

She follows, taking her first steps out of the racks in…decades? Centuries? And emerges into a room of thrones, and the first thing she notices is the quiet.

She stares at Lillith, who has given her silence again. _I love you_. She thinks, riding high on the feeling. _This is love._

“That’s better,” Lillith says, slinking her way to a throne and sitting down in it gracefully. “Before we begin, can you tell me your name?”

 _I’ll tell you anything_. She thinks for a while. The silence stretches on.

“No matter,” Lillith says. “Everybody forgets eventually. And you’ve been here a long time, Earth is going to be a whole different beast to you now.” She looks at her, contemplative. “That’s fine. Let’s call you Ruby.”


	4. Branded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Handprints and skin

Dean has a handprint on his shoulder.

It’s weird at first: it’s big, it’s obvious, and it’s stark against his skin, even in the dark. It causes some issues when he tries to get laid, because it’s not artful enough to be a tattoo but not obvious enough to be a scar. At those times, he hates the handprint.

At some point, though, between the apocalypse and the demons and the angels and war, he forgets that it’s there. It’s simply a part of him now, the way that Hell is a part of him now, the way that his scars were before they were wiped off his body. This is the only scar he has now, the only thing that shows the hardship of his life on his physical body.

Later, it almost becomes a comfort. The association becomes less about about him, and more about the person who gave it to him.

Cas is always there, on his skin, their equivalent of getting matching tattoos. It’s nice to have a physical reminder of people who care about him, of one of the best friends he’s ever had.

At some point between his return from purgatory and taking on the Mark, the handprint disappears. He doesn’t know exactly when it happened, but his heart drops when he looked in a mirror and doesn’t see it there anymore.

He doesn’t say anything, but he quietly mourns the loss of yet another blemish that belongs to him.

* * *

Sam has a handprint on his forearm.

He has some idea of how it got there-He got out of Hell, Dean got out of Hell, they both have handprints, it’s not difficult to put together-but he doesn’t know who put it there. This becomes part of the mission, of the mystery: who got him out of Hell, and whose brand does he have in his arm?

After he gets his soul back, he also gets the source of his new handprint: Castiel. Again.

Sam thinks about this for a while. It’s like a family trait now: he and his brother share a handprint on their skin from the same source, like a crest. The three of them are entertwined by divinity, by the shared experience of going to literal Hell and back. Team Free Will, indeed.

After the angels fall, in the fuzzy post-trials time (when he was carrying around an angel of his own) the handprint disappears. Sam suspects that it’s disappeared from Dean too, although he doesn’t confirm it for a while. There could be a million explanations for this: the loss of Cas’ grace, the trials, Gadreel, the changing beast that is Hell, but the reason doesn’t really matter.

He’s not branded anymore, but he might as well be.


	5. Daydream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When daydreams aren't daydreams

His head hurts.

He blinks, hoping to clear the pain, but it doesn’t work. It only gets stronger.

He hunches over, holding his head in his hands.

_She’s burning. She’s burning on the ceiling._

He digs his fingers on his eyelid, pressing, hoping to see the telltale pressure on his vision.

_There’s screams. His screams. Not hers, she can’t scream, even though the fire consumes her._

He bends over so his nose almost hits his knee. _Make it stop make it stop make it stop._

“Sam?”

There’s a touch on his shoulder. At the touch, the pain begins to recede slightly. “You okay?”

He waits a few beats, and then it’s bearable enough that he can lift his head. “Headache,” he manages to grit out, leaning into the touch.

The hand is removed from his shoulder, and he feels arms encircle him. “I’m sorry,” She says. “Do you need me to get you anything for the pain?”

He screws up the courage to open his eyes, and sees Jess’ blurry face twisted in concern. “Just stay here,” he responds, leaning back into her. “That’s all I need.”

He can feel her chuckle. “You’re such a cornball. Seriously, though. What do you think caused it?

He blinks some more, feeling the pain receede further. “Daydreaming,” he responds, and she laughs again.


	6. Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is why Sam hates Halloween

**2018**

“Okay seriously, why? Why do you hate Halloween? What is it, was it the time I, I ate all your Halloween candy?” Dean asks, chuckling.

“No,” Sam says.

“Was it something that Dad did?” Dean asks, and it’s starting to border on a serious question, a serious conversation, and Sam just doesn’t want to get into that right now. It’s not the time, not when Dean has only just started being okay.

Sam casts his thoughts back, picks out an unpleasant memory that happened at a Halloween party (it was real enough, but it didn’t happen on Halloween itself), and regales Dean the tale, knowing that it makes him laugh.

It works, at least for a little while, and Sam can breathe easy again.

* * *

**2018**

“Still not a fan of Halloween, huh?” Dean asks, a grin lighting his face.

“Nope.” Sam says, kicking at a rock along his path. It’s a conversation they have every year, and he just has to grin and bear it, like always.

Dean chuckes, “It’s so lame.” And Sam kinda has to agree on that one

* * *

**2008**

“It’s Halloween, man.” Dean shrugs, bits of candy coating the sides of his mouth, and on his hands.

Yeah, he knows. Sam’s so tired of it all. These people don’t recognize the horrors of the everyday that makes up his reality. Of the kind of things that he suffers daily in order to keep the rest of them safe. They find it funny, entertaining. It’s anything but. God, he hates the whole holiday.

“Yeah, for us every day is Halloween.” Sam responds, trying not to let his bitterness show. It makes a mockery of their very livelihood.

He wishes, deep down, that that was the reason why he hated it so much.

* * *

**2005**

“You know how I feel about Halloween.”

Jess rolls her eyes, fidgeting with a strap in her costume. “I know,” She says. “I promise, though. It’ll be fun. You’re just gonna have to trust me a little.”

Sam sighs. “I do,” he says. “You know I do. But I just don’t like it, and I can’t really change that.”

“You can try,” Jess says, and he just smiles, because he loves her and he already knows he’s going with her anyway. But she can’t change him, no matter how much she wants to (and how much he wants to). Some things are just a part of him now, and always will be.

* * *

**1992**

This is how it happens:

Sam is alone. This happens a lot, because Dad goes out on hunts and now Dean can be there for backup, and he’s old enough to take care of himself.

He’s walking back to the motel, somewhere in Ohio. It’s late, and he _knows_ he isn’t supposed to be walking home this late, but it’s Halloween and there’s decorations everywhere and he’s never gotten the chance to take them in at his leisure before. He gets to just be a kid for a night, and he’ll take the opportunity when it comes.

He’s almost back to the motel, ducking inside his jacket for warmth, when he notices a figure standing before him on the sidewalk. The motel’s a little ways out of town so there’s nobody else around, not even the trick-or-treaters that dominate the streets. There’s just Sam and this person, who stands there, back to Sam, unmoving.

Sam slows his pace, but keeps walking. He knows it’s probably nothing, that he’s just being a coward, but he’s gonna keep an eye out. His hands go deep into his pockets, and he wishes he’d brought some salt, just in case.

As he draws closer, the figure’s shoulders hitch, like it senses his presence, and it slowly turns his way. A masked face comes into view, with a bright red nose and bright yellow hair and a too-wide grin: a clown mask. It’s just a man with a mask.

Sam feels himself deflate in relief. It’s just a person. Dad and Dean deal with worse almost daily. He’s fine.

As he draws level with the clown man, he suddenly moves: with a shriek unlike anything Sam had ever heard in his life, the man leaps at Sam, hands out, fingers curled, and the ever-present grin still on the mask.

Sam just reacts: he _runs_ , faster than he thinks he’s ever done in the training he’s done with Dad, heart pumping, legs aching, sweat running down his forehead, around the block and doubling back to the motel. He doesn’t look back the whole way, terrified of anything that could slow him down.

The motel comes back into sight, and he _leaps_ to the door, grabbing the key out of his pocket with shaking fingers and jamming it into the lock. It takes him a couple tries but he opens the door and stumbles in, slamming it behind him and pushing all the locks into place.

Now he can gain his bearings, so Sam rushes back to the window and peers out into the darkness. There’s nothing there, not a sign of the man or the clown or any figure anywhere. There’s just emptiness and the cars in the motel parking lot.

Sam expels a deep breath, but he knows he’s not safe quite yet. He rushes to his bed, grabbing the .45 from under it and picking off the tiny salt packet from the table. He sits in the corner, eyes to the door, and waits, just in case. You can’t be too careful in a hunt.

Once the adrenaline rush begins to fade and his fingers stop trembling, Sam pushes his knees up to his chest. He knows that he probably just ran into some guy, some asshole who thought scaring a kid was funny. But here’s the deal: it _worked_. He’s supposed to be a hunter, he’s to supposed to train up for the real danger out there. But as it turns out, he can’t handle a guy in a clown mask.

And if he can’t do that, how is he ever going to be the Winchester that he wants to be?


	7. Domestic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life

“Anything?” Dean asks.

Sam looks at the upper right hand corner of his laptop: 11:34 AM. “Nope,” Sam says.

* * *

2 hours later, it’s probably time to call it a day.

Sam closes the laptop lid, the slight _thwack_ catching Dean’s attention, waking him him from his light doze on the chair.

“Anything?” Dean asks again, not-so-discreetly wiping his mouth.

“Nope,” Sam repeats, gathering his things and standing up. Damn, his knees feel that nowadays. “Doesn’t look like anything’s coming up either, I think we’re good for the day right now. I’m gonna get Jack.”

“Cool,” Dean says, standing up, wincing, and then stretching his back. “I’m gonna go work on Baby. Lemme know if anything comes up.”

“Will do,” Sam says, and saunters out.

* * *

Sam knocks in three sharp bursts on Jack’s door. He waits for the “come in” and walks inside to see Jack, wearing rumpled PJs and bed head, staring at his iPad. The telltale sounds of a lightsaber emerge, tinny, from the device.

“Hey,” Sam says. “Looks like there’s nothing out there today. So, learning time. Get ready and get something to eat and meet me in the library, okay?”

“Okay,” Jack says, giving him a smile and hopping out of bed, ever enthusiastic.

By the time Jack gets out of his room, clothes neat and hair combed like they taught him, Sam is sitting at the table, books spread out and notebook and pen ready.

“What’re we doing today?” Jack asks, sitting down.

Sam puts away his phone (nothing going on yet) and smiles at him. “I’m thinking we do history today,” He says, tapping a book. “You remember where we left off?”

* * *

Cas meanders in a few minutes into the lesson, which is great because he can describe significant historical moments in great detail. Sam doesn’t ask where he’s been, and Cas doesn’t volunteer it: he’s never quite been able to stick around to one place all day. Sam attributes that to his divine immortality.

They get through The Bay of Pigs when Dean walks in, towel over one shoulder.

“Spaghetti sound good?” He asks.

Sam lifts a hand with a “yep,” and Jack smiles extra wide. Dean seems at ease: no twitching, no phone-checking of his own, no significant glances at Sam. It’s a good day.

* * *

Later comes Sam’s favorite part of the day.

He checks his phone (nothing) and settles in for the day’s battle: the evening movie.

“Who’s turn is it to choose today?” Cas asks, sitting in his usual straight-backed chair, looking just as comfortable as he would be on an overstuffed couch.

“It’s Sam!” Jack says, bouncing in place. “Dean was yesterday.”

“Goddammit,” Dean says, leaning back. “Here we go.”

“What’s your choice?” Jack asks.

Sam smiles. “Okay, there’s this film…”

“Veto!” Dean interrupts, pointing at Sam. “I’m vetoing!”

“We get one veto a week!” Sam says, “Why’re you using yours when you haven’t even heard what I’ve picked yet?”

“You said ‘film’, Dean says, “it’s gonna be some French movie or some shit. I already know. So yeah, that’s my veto. It’s off the table for the week now.”

“Just so you know,” Sam responds, as Jack begins to crack up in the background. “I was telling Jack about _Stargate_. But okay, no _Stargate_ this week. That’s a good idea about the French movie, though! I’m sure I can find something.”

“What the _hell_?” Dean asks, and now Cas is smiling too. “That’s not fair! You totally weren’t gonna say _Stargate_. My veto holds!”

“Not before you didn’t know what the movie was gonna be,” Sam says, radiating smugness. “That’s your veto. Can’t do anything about that.”

Dean sits back. “Okay,” he says grudgingly. “You got me there. I’ll remember this next week.”

Sam finally cracks a grin himself, turning in triumph to the others where he sees Jack flash him a thumbs up.

He doesn’t check his phone for the rest of the night.


	8. Heartless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere far along this road he lost his soul

“So you really don’t feel anything?” Dean asks him.

Sam looks at him, blinks once. “Nope.”

* * *

He notices it right away.

He notices it in the lack of relief he feels when he realizes he’s out of Hell. There’s nothing: just the thought, the logical sequence of events ( _I’m not being tortured + I’m out on earth = I’m out of Hell_ ) completely removed from any emotional attachment at all.

He may be emotionless, but he’s not _stupid_. He knows something is wrong, be it with some sort of trauma response or…something else.

For now, he’ll lie low until he can figure out where exactly his emotions have got to.

* * *

He notices it when he just…doesn’t sleep.

This one is weird. If this whole emotionless thing is a trauma response, what’s his sleep got to do with it? How is he not dead, physically spent from his incapability of sleep? There’s something more going on here, he’s sure of it. The promise of a puzzle to be solved borders on something resembling an emotion, but doesn’t quite make it there.

* * *

He notices it when he meets his mom’s family for the first time.

He’s pleased with the development. Not because they’re family (he knows that should be the reason, but it isn’t) but because they’re fellow hunters. They know the game, they know the risks. He doesn’t have to teach them anything, there’s nothing but benefits here.

Samuel never stops looking at him funny, though.

* * *

He notices it when the sight of Dean doesn’t change anything.

He’d been hoping that, once he saw his brother, all the feelings would come flooding back in, and he’d be himself again. He wouldn’t have this gnawing at the back of his mind all the time, the sense of wrongness that he can’t even feel.

But when Dean walks up to him and hugs him tight, Sam can’t make himself feel anything about it, even as he forces his mouth into a smile.

* * *

He notices it when the lies come easy, but the connections don’t come at all.

He’d always been good at the interviews. He could always talk to the victims, to the families, and project that he understands and sympathizes with them. He’s lost that ability now.

He’d never been very good at lying, but he sure is now. It almost makes up for it: he can look people in the eye and make them believe what he wants them to believe with no compunction. There’s no emotional baggage this way either.

It even works on Dean, for a while.

* * *

He notices it when he almost kills Bobby with his bare hands.

It’s only survival, he tells himself. Self defense. They basically want to kill him because his lack of emotion is uncomfortable to them. No matter that he’s the best he’s ever been at hunting. No matter that he’s a person, just as he’s always been. He was an inconvenience, so it was kill or be killed.

He isn’t even mad about it. As he’s about to strike the final blow, he understands: in this world, you do what you can to survive. And that’s exactly what he’s doing.

For the first time, he’s actively glad he’s not feeling anything in this moment. Or this would’ve hurt like a mother.


	9. Electric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean develops a new fear

The faith healer leaves a mark.

Not a physical one, to be clear. There’s not so much as a scar from his near-death experience, not a piece of singed skin that remains as proof that he was nearly gone at 27.

No, Dean has no physical reminders from the incident. But he’s left with something that he can’t escape anyway.

He finds this out two weeks later. He and Sam are holed up in a tiny motel in Texas, and not because they’re on a hunt. Instead, they’re waiting out an intense thunderstorm, watching the rain batter the cheap windows and praying that they don’t have to flee.

Dean’s looking out the window, trying to gage the storm’s power, when his vision is drowned by white as a large streak of lightening shoots across the sky. Dean blinks ( _zapping at his skin it hurts it hurts it hurts_ ) and in another second is up against the bed furthest from the window before he notices he’s moved.

Sam looks up from phone, startled. “Dean? You okay?”

Dean’s heart is pounding. “I’m good,” he says, but all he can think is _not again._

* * *

Dean’s not an idiot. He does his research.

What he finds is a name, electrophobia, and the problem of yet another irrational fear that he doesn’t know what to do with.

So, he decides to deal with it the way he does with his other problems: avoid it and pretend it doesn’t exist.

* * *

Unlike with airplanes, electricity is a little hard to avoid.

“Hey Dean,” Sam says, waving an item in his hand. “Your homemade EMF is on the fritz. Check it out, will you?”

It’s not the same, but Dean isn’t taking any chances. “Nah, looks like it’s toast,” he says, peering at it from an acceptable distance. “I think it’s time to say sayonara.”

Sam looks startled, but puts the device away and Dean can breathe easy again.

* * *

Dean starts avoiding parking under power lines.

Usually it’s okay, but one time they’ve arranged to meet a local reporter for a case and Dean can’t find free and clear parking spot and drives around until Sam, at the end of his rope and confused as hell, demands to be let out and tells Dean to pick him up from the meeting later. Dean does it without further argument.

* * *

Dean refuses to touch the taser anymore.

Sam _definitely_ notices this one, but Dean can’t really do more to hide it. He just stares at the taser until Sam walks into his line of sight and takes it away slowly and gently. Dean waits for the inevitable confrontation but Sam just lets it go for the rest of the night.

* * *

Sam finally addresses it when they’re stuck in another thunderstorm, but this time they’re in Wisconsin. Dean isn’t sitting next to the window this time: he’s sitting at the motel table, back to the window, trying to wait it out.

“Hey Dean,” Sam says, sitting cross-legged on the motel bed. “I think we should talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” Dean says, playing dumb.

“You know what,” Sam says, leaning forward. “The electricity thing.”

Dean sighs, shakes his head. “Sam...”

“No, Dean,” Sam interrupts. “Listen. I know it’s been hard for you, and I know why it’s affected you this bad. But this can’t continue. It’s not healthy for you, you can’t just avoid anything with electricity forever. We have to work on this.”

Dean gives him a look. “I’ll deal with it, okay? I promise.”

“I know you will,” and now Sam’s tone is more gentle, less pointed. “And I know you’ve dealt with it before. But you’ve got me here, now. And I’ve been doing some research, and I have some ideas we can try. I want to help you.”

Dean could say a couple things. He could say _I don’t need your help_ or _I can take care of myself_ or _I can’t show weakness in front of you_. But those would all be lies and he honestly has had enough of those at the moment.

So instead, Dean looks at his brother and says “Thanks, Sam.”


	10. Sweet Rides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas tries his best

When Castiel decides to abandon the armies of Heaven and join a ragtag group of humans, he runs into a few problems.

One of them is, perhaps unsurprisingly, communication.

Castiel had assumed that his perfect knowledge of every human language possible would make this a non-issue, but he had been sorely mistaken. Apparently, language has developed over the years and now includes many new, confusing aspects to it.

Langage is no longer literal, and Castiel cannot keep up with the changes. He is an angel of the Lord, with knowledge that humans cannot fathom and powers that they cannot imagine. And yet, he is left looking like a fool more often than not, simply because he cannot understand what his new allies and friends are trying to say to him.

* * *

Castiel knows that he needs to fix this, immediately. He wishes he’d had some time to get advice from his brothers who’d had more experience in the human world: Gabriel, maybe even Balthazar. But it’s too late now, and it’s on him to figure out this new type of communication.

So, he does as humans do and turns to research. He could look for books, but he’s informed by Dean that the majority of research these days occurs on the internet (truly a technological innovation, for humans) so he goes on there and begins his journey into the intricacies of the human language.

He reads and memorizes in the moments when he’s tired and lost and waiting near bus stops, and after some time decides it’s time to start showing off his newfound language skills.

* * *

He’s sitting with Sam and Dean in a small diner. They’re sitting close by in a small booth, discussing various ways and techniques to locate and stop Lucifer.

Castiel sits with them, listening, adding his own thoughts to the discussion when he spots something at the window. He turns his head to see a cherry-red vehicle, glaring and unique amongst the darker, less ostentatious cars in the diner’s parking lot. In this car he also sees an opportunity.

He turns to Sam, sitting next to him, and says “That car is a sweet ride, I believe.”

Dean, in the middle of a sip of coffee, chokes on it and starts to cough. Sam, seemingly oblivious to his brother’s situation, responds: “it sure is, Cas.”

Castiel nods to himself, keeping an eye on Dean as he composes himself. You’ve done it, he thinks. Maybe this won’t be so difficult after all.

Dean wheezes a couple of breaths, then himself turns to Castiel. “Where’s the, uh, sweet ride you saw?”

Castiel motions towards the window, and as he does so sees Sam shoot a disapproving glare at his brother. Perhaps he thinks Dean should’ve noticed the car? It _was_ fairly obvious.

“Be nice,” he hears Sam hiss, and thinks that maybe Dean would’ve made some disparaging comment about the car itself. That would make sense. Dean seems passionate enough about them.

Dean instead clears his throat, says “Good catch, Cas,” and takes another sip of coffee.

Castiel feels his mouth pull into a smile and leans back against the tattery booth seat. He may yet crack the mysteries of human communication.


	11. Rock & Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's music is important to him. It hasn't always been.

When Dean is three years old, his mother sings him the same song night after night. It soothes him like nothing else ever does, and some days he can’t wait for bedtime so that he can hear that song.

Dad tells him it’s called “Hey Jude” and that it’s written by the best band on the planet. It doesn’t really make sense to Dean, because to him, that song is his mother’s and nobody else’s.

* * *

When Dean is five years old, his mother is gone and there is no singing anymore. There hasn’t been for close to a year now, and Dean can barely squeeze a word out of his mouth himself, even though he knows every word.

There’s music, but...it’s different. His dad will put on the radio for hours and hours in the car, and it’s all loud and thumping and unclear. Sometimes his dad will talk over the music the whole time, telling Dean the bands and the musicians and all these facts over and over again. Dean just listens and learns.

At some point Dean realizes that Sammy isn’t going to get to hear their mom’s song, to understand what it means and how it goes. It hits him hard, and he’s thinking about that when he opens his mouth and starts talking again.

* * *

When Dean is ten years old, he starts really listening to his dad’s tapes.

They’d been in the background of his life for pretty much his entire life. But now, he really starts to pay attention: the lyrics, the sounds, the movement of the music, they all stand out to him in a way they didn’t before.

When six year old Sammy sits in the car and listens to the music, his face screws up in a way that Dean recognizes when he was that age. That’s when Dean realizes: maybe that’s what growing up is. Maybe that’s what this music means.

* * *

When Dean is fourteen years old, rock & roll starts to be cool again.

Dean is ecstatic by this development. He’s been training for this his entire life: he’s memorized all the classics, not to mention having an encyclopedic knowledge of the bands and the musicians and the era. It helps with his standing at school, and it _definitely_ impresses the girls who listen to him speak.

It’s now that he finally starts to love the music: not only for what it is, but for what it represents, for the way that it makes him feel. Because no matter how little he knows about everything else in the world, he knows rock & roll. And he’s good at it, too.

* * *

When Dean is twenty two years old, his brother leaves them.

Soon after, his dad tells him that he’s ready to do cases by himself. It’s too much all at once, and Dean retreats to the Impala that’s now his and listens to his favorite tapes over and over again until he feels like he can take on the world again.

No matter what, the music will always be there for him.

* * *

When Dean is twenty six years old, he gets his brother back.

But his brother is miserable, and hurting, and goes days without eating and too-little sleep and Dean is going insane with worry because this is one thing he can’t fix.

He tries, though. He takes Sam on long drives, turns the music up, tries to do the same things that make him feel better. He’s not sure they work but he keeps trying, it’s all that he can do.

He thinks back to “Hey, Jude” and thinks that if Sam’d just had that, if he’d been able to give Sam that, then maybe the music could’ve worked for him too.


	12. Rewind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past, from different perspectives

“Hey Sam,” Dean says, blinking at the sharp light in the Bunker library. “Remember when we weren’t fighting God and the universe? Life sure was a lot less complicated back then.”

Sam chuffs out a laugh, sitting back. “Sure,” he says “But I think we remember ‘back then’ a little differently.”

* * *

“Hey Sam,” Dean says, leaning on the straight-backed chair in the Bunker kitchen. “Remember when we weren’t fighting the Darkness that we released into the world and were just fighting demons? Good times, man.”

Sam closes his eyes, takes another sip of water. “How was that good?” He asks.

* * *

“Hey Sam,” Dean says, shooting him a look from the inside of a silent Impala. “Remember when we weren’t trying to hunt down Lucifer and stop the Apocalypse? Where’d all the simple hunts go?”

Sam sucks in a breath. “They were definitely less heavy,” he concurs. “But I don’t know about simple.”

* * *

“Hey Sam,” Dean says, looking up from the laptop in the motel kitchenette, wearing a tired grin. “Remember when we were just hunting down ghosts and you didn’t have any freaky powers? Those were the days.”

Sam rolls his eyes, running his fingers up and down the spine of Dad’s journal. “Yup, we used to have a normal, fun time.” He says

* * *

“Hey Sam,” Dean says, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder as they wait for Dad to pick them up from school. “It’ll be okay, promise. We’ve done the research, we have the weapons, we’re ready for the hunt. This is as bad as it’s gonna get, okay?”

Sam looks up at him, not even trying to work up a smile. “Don’t jinx it, Dean.” He says.


	13. Ladies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary's not doing this anymore

Mary had always been told how lucky she was.

It wasn’t in the usual way, either. Instead of her friends and family espousing her brain, her looks, her personality, she’s told again and again how lucky she is that her dad makes her hunt like all the rest of the Campbell men do.

To Campbells, hunting is everything. The Campbell men have been trained their whole lives to be the best of the best. Her father doesn’t seem to care about her gender: she’s a Campbell, so it means she’s going to be the best hunter around. No exceptions, no arguments.

Mary’s always told that she’s lucky. But she honestly doesn’t feel all that lucky at all.

* * *

A few disasters later, she’s out of the life that she hates so much and into one she’s always dreamed of.

It comes with a whole set of…new challenges that she hasn’t been expecting.

She goes right from a life of hunting and violence and fighting to the pregnant suburban housewife before she can blink, and at first it feels great. But weeks in and months in she’s tired of being _looked_ at like that, talked to like she’s an innocent who knows nothing and can do nothing just because she’s carrying a baby around inside her.

It’s insulting. Somehow, buried deep in her own community with her own people, she’s missed out in the majority of it. And it’s come to catch up with her now.

She’s always scoffed when her family told her she had been lucky before. But honestly? She’s starting to get it now.


	14. Fun & Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ways to pass the time

“I spy with my little eye,” six-year-old Sammy says, staring out the Impala’s window. “Something…green!”

10-year-old Dean stares, eye narrowed. “Is it..uh…the trees?”

Sammy claps, delighted. “Yeah!” He says, laughing. “How’d you know?”

Dean looks back out at the expanses of green forest whizzing past around them, with nothing in between. “I know everything.” He responds.

* * *

“Fifty nine bottles of pop on the wall, fifty nine bottles of pop!”

John grits his teeth. _Grin and bear it_. He reminds himself staunchly. _He’s young and and has been stuck in the car for hours. Let him work off the energy._

Dean pauses to take a deep breath, then continues “Fifty-eight bottles of pop on the wall, fifty-eight bottles of pop!”

John glances in the rear view mirror. Sammy, in all his angsty preteen glory, looks like he’s suffering from the singing just as much. Well, at least he has company.

Sam looks up and they make eye contact through the mirror. John sees his expression change as something clicks in his head, and a wicked grin starts to grow on his face.

_What is…?_

John’s thought is cut off at the knees as Sam opens his mouth to join in as Dean hits fifty-seven bottles of pop, Dean getting louder at his brother’s involvement and turning around to him and flashing a thumbs up.

John groans internally, sinking lower into his seat. _Traitor_. He thinks, cursing the need for preteens to deliberately annoy their parents.

* * *

“Ha!!! Full house, baby!”

“Dean, you liar! Show me your sleeve!”

“Don’t knock my skills Sammy boy, just ‘cause you suck at poker…”

“Enough of that, boys,” John yells from the front seat. “If you can’t play quietly, I’m taking your deck away!”

* * *

“Okay,” Dean says, squinting out into the empty, distant, road. “Here’s one. Elijah Wood and Billy Zane.”

“Huh?” Although Sam’s a full twenty-two years old, he sure still sounds like a teenager when he wants to. “Billy Zane wasn’t in Lord of the Rings, was he?”

“Nope,” Dean says, internally cackling.

“Um. Titanic?”

“Nope,” Dean repeats. “One more guess.”

Sam sighs, flops back in his seat. “I don’t know, man. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind?”

Dean frowns. “I haven’t seen that one.”

“It’s new,” Sam says, defeated. “Fine. Tell me. What movie were Billy Zane and Elijah Wood in together?”

Dean grins. “Back to the Future II.”

“Back to the…” Sam looks at him. “You’re joking.”

“Am not!” Dean taps on the wheel, still grinning. “You just don’t like them as much as I do. Admit it.”

Sam folds his arms. “And you call me a nerd,” he mumbles, and he hasn’t broken down for his lost girlfriend in 48 hours so Dean just laughs and takes the win.

* * *

“Yellow,” Dean says, keeping a close eye on the road.

Sam looks up from his phone, sees the traffic, and takes in what his brother just said. “Purple,” he replies, putting his phone away and taking his own watch of the free flowing movement of cars in the opposing lane.

They sit there in silence, taking in the colors that whizz past. Blue. Black. White. White. Blue. Red. Black.

Time goes by in complete silence as the two of them sit and stare, broken only by the incremental movements Dean makes to move with the snail’s pace of traffic they’ve been caught in. Finally, a well-kept purple Chevy whizzes by, and the silence is broken.

Sam let’s out a whoop while Dean smacks the wheel. “Damn it!”

“Cough it up!” Sam says, arm extended, and Dean grumbles all the way into his wallet and pulls out a twenty.

“You got lucky this time,” He says, and Sam laughs.

“You’re just jealous because I know everything,” Sam responds, taking his money and laughing some more.


	15. Third Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam never asked for any of this

Despite the solemn circumstances, it doesn’t take Dean that long after he finds out about Sam’s powers to start cracking jokes about it.

Two weeks after Lawrence, they’re sitting in a diner at 8am, fresh from a night of grave-digging, sweaty and exhausted and ready to collapse in a motel bed for a while.

Dean looks up at his brother, whose head is sinking dangerously close to the sticky table. “Next time,” He says, breaking the tired silence. “Break out the powers and find out exactly where the body is buried. Save us some time, for once.”

Sam doesn’t feel so exhausted anymore after that.

* * *

It only grows from there.

At some point Dean gets incredibly attached to the idea of going to Vegas, and of using Sam’s precognition to get some money.

It’s funny the first few times, but it gets old pretty fast.

“But seriously,” Dean says at one point, and that’s when Sam knows he’s in trouble. “Why not? If your future boy thing can be helpful might as well use it, right?”

Sam’s tired. “No.”

“But just think about-“

“No,” Sam repeats, and that sure shuts Dean right up. He doesn’t know how much of it was still a joke, but he’s not taking the chance that it wasn’t.

* * *

Then, it gets serious.

Sam gets another vision, and they high tail it to Michigan only to watch the entire case fall apart before their eyes. They leave the lone survivor of a desiccated family behind, and Sam spends the next hour in the car nursing a headache and praying that he won’t throw up all over its interior.

At some point, he feels Dean shifting around on the driver’s seat. “Sam?”

Sam lifts the arm that was covering his eyes. “Yeah?”

Dean clears his throat once, twice. “We’ll find a way around this, okay?”

Bless Dean for trying, but Sam doesn’t know if that’s possible. All he knows is that he’s stuck with abilities that hurt him and use him up til there’s nothing left. “This” might be him now, and there’s no way to get around something that’s inherently wrong inside.

“Okay,” Sam says.

* * *

One time, they catch a case in a small town with a large amount of ghostly activity. It’s a haven for amateur ghost hunters in the region, and sometimes they stumble into an actual haunting.

At some point, people start getting killed off at random and that holds enough water that they venture out to see what they can find there. Dean, when he sees the plethora of young women who work in the town’s tiny bar, instantly decides to hop in to do some “field research”.

Sam’s in the library, doing his usual research of the town’s history, when he feels his phone vibrate in his jeans pocket. He extricates himself from the files and the dust and walks outside to answer it.

“Hey,” Sam says, squinting as he opens the door to the harsh afternoon light. “What’s-“

“We gotta ditch this one, dude,” Dean interrupts, not a single strand of levity in his voice. “Pack it in and meet me back in the motel in twenty.”

Sam blinks, but it’s not from the blazing sun. “What? Why?”

“I’ll explain later,” Dean says. “But we gotta get out of here first.”

“No!” Sam snaps, taken aback by the suddenness of all of this. “I’m not leaving unless you explain. You’re asking us to leave people here to die! You better give me a good reason.”

There’s silence at the end of the line, then: “It’s killing psychics.”

Sam’s mouth grows dry. “What?”

“All the people who died,” Dean says. “They were all psychic, or had latent psychic abilities. We can’t risk it, dude.”

Sam shakes his head, like Dean can see him. “No, dude. I’m not a kid, I’m twenty-two, I can handle it. We still have to-“

“No,” Dean says, voice tight. “Look. What we do is dangerous, I know that. But we can’t go into this case when one of us is an obvious target. I’ll call Bobby, I’ll get him to send someone else here instead. I’m calling this one, Sammy. It’s not happening.”

Sam closes his eyes, feels iciness start to take over his insides despite the oppressive heat. “Okay.”

* * *

Sam is walking on a small, quiet town street, dinner in hand and lost in his thoughts, when he senses somebody approach him.

His head snaps up and he sees an old man, probably late 70s-early 80s, walking towards him. The man makes eye contact with him and smiles, gesturing him over.

He doesn’t seem like a threat, but you never know. Sam nods and makes his way over, hands in his pockets and close to the knife in his pocket.

“Young man,” the man says, eyes lighting up as his gets closer. “You’re like me, aren’t you? You’re psychic. I can tell.”

Sam heart picks up. This guy is either…strange, or he’s legit, but either way Sam doesn’t really feel like hanging around to find out.

Before he can leave, the man lays a hand on his arm. “Don’t be scared,” he says, giving him a small pat. “I just wanted you to know you’re not alone. I hope you can find some peace in that.”

The man gives him a final smile and turns to walk back in the direction he came. Sam takes his hand of his pocket and lets his arm hang limp and he watches the man leave.

He still can’t tell if the man was legit or not. But, despite that, he can’t help but feel a little bit better.


	16. Switch it up!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn't like being on this side of it

After he drags his brother back from death, Dean feels free.

That’s it. It’s over for him. He can do whatever he wants in the year he has left before he’s sentenced to eternal damnation, and he’s going to live what’s left of life for all it’s worth.

That’s why it takes him so long to realize that his brother’s behavior is starting to look a little…familiar.

* * *

“Sam!”

Dean catches Sam’s chest, pushes him back. “Calm down, Sam! Jesus Christ. You can’t just run in there, okay? You’ll get yourself killed.”

Sam shakes him off, but he stays where he is. “Someone could be dying in there, Dean!” He snaps. “We don’t have time for this!”

“We can’t help them if we die too!” Dean responds. “Get it together!”

* * *

_“Dean!”_

_He’s furious, he can feel it boiling away under his skin. He shakes off the grip that his 15 year old brother has on his jacket sleeve. “What?” He snaps._

_“Don’t go,” Sam says. “Please. Dad said to wait until he gets the charm. He’s not here yet.”_

_Dean gestures towards the house. “You’re hearing what I’m hearing, right?” The faint sounds of shouting emerge from within, but they can’t quite make out what’s being said._

_“We can’t help them if we don’t have the charm!” Sam says._

_Dean snarls and turns away from his brother._

* * *

“Okay, so what’s the plan here?”

Sam runs a hand through his hair, shrugs. “What’s there to plan? It’s a vampire nest. We go in, get rid of ‘em, and get out.”

Dean blinks. “Whoa.”

“What?” Sam asks, instantly defensive.

“It’s just…” Dean hedges. “It’s not what I was expecting. That’s all.”

“Okay then,” Sam says, and they leave it like that.

* * *

_“Why not just run in and blast ‘em?”_

_“Dean!” Sam squeaks, horrified. “They’re people!”_

_“Werewolves,” Dean corrects, polishing his gun. “There’s a difference.”_

_“They won’t even be changed!” Sam protests. “They’ll just be people!”_

_“You’ll understand when you’re older,” Dean replies._

* * *

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean says, sauntering back into the motel room. “Just caught wind of a steakhouse downtown that’s supposed to be pretty good. Wanna check it out?”

Sam’s hunched over the small motel table, blue light from the laptop suffusing his face. “I’m good, Dean,” He says.

“Come on,” Dean wheedles, drawing out the last syllable. “Live a little!”

“Gotta work, Dean,” Sam says, hunching further.

* * *

_“Dean, why don’t you wanna go with me to the amusement park?”_

_Dean looks up from his book and sighs. “I’m busy, Sammy,” He responds._

_“Please?” Sammy says, somehow looking younger than his ten years. “Why don’t you ever wanna do anything fun?”_

_“That’s not true,” Dean says. “But I can’t now. Dad needs me.”_

* * *

Dean’s grasping for freedom nowadays. He’s starting to realize that his behavior is familiar now too.


	17. Autumn Invading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes

Autumn comes,

A mother laughs,

She’s made her life,

And her own path

Autumn comes,

A father mourns,

Those in his way,

Shall feel his scorn

Autumn comes,

A young man waits,

He cleans his gun,

Stares down his fate

Autumn comes,

A young man flees,

Grimly determined,

He will be free


	18. Dark & Stormy Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stories that remain

“Your turn!”

The group of young adults turn as one to the blond young man in their midst. “You said you had a good one,” one of the girls says, raising her drink. “So go ahead!”

The young man smiles. “It’s not what you think,” He says. “This one is actually real.”

“Okay, just go!” The girl says.

The young man leans back against a log, staring at the group camped out among the fire. “It was a dark and stormy night…”

As one, the group begins to shout him out, and the young man laughs. “Okay, fine! I know it’s a cliche. Let me start over. It wasn’t _actually_ a dark and stormy night. It was just a regular day. This was just a kid, his brother, and his mother. Life was good and normal, and barely anything bad ever happened to them. But one day…” the young man takes a deep breath. “Everything changed.”

The smiles and laughs that had accompanied the start of the story have now began to peter out.

“Kids started to get sick. Really sick. And nobody knew why. One day they’d be fine, and the next day they wouldn’t be able to move. Everyone was scared and nobody left their houses. Rumors started to spread: was it a new plague? Was it biological warfare? There were whispers of a curse, a witch that attacked the children of those who dared to cross them. Nobody knew what to do, and the kid just sat at home and prayed.”

The wind blew up a gust of leaves that scattered among the group. The young man batted a leaf away from his face before continuing.

“One day, two strangers came to town. They were weird, secretive. They asked all sorts of questions. They went all around town, giving out different names and identities. They even tried to talk to the kid, to get information as to what was happening in the town. The kid was suspicious of them, and scared. It was just too much, with all the other stuff going on. They didn’t need anything more going on in this town. But then,” the young man’s voice drops off into an almost-whisper. “The kid’s brother got sick too.”

“So, he went to the strangers to ask for their help. He got desperate. This time, whatever was happening had his brother too, and he would do whatever he had to to save him. The strangers told him that his worst nightmare was true: this wasn’t a plague. It wasn’t a curse. It was a monster, a monster who ate children’s souls. It had stolen his brother, and it would steal him too. But he could save his brother if he sat and waited in the dark. Waited for the monster to come get him too, and the strangers would be able to finally kill the monster.”

The fire, crackling softly until now, lets out a sudden spark. The group jumps, someone yelps.

“The boy agreed. That night, he sat in his bed, under the covers, and waited. In the dead of night, he heard a rustling outside, and the slow creak of his window opening. All he could do was sit and wait, wait as whatever it was that was in his room slithered over to his bed. It stopped, and the boy’s heart started beating faster as he could feel the thing’s hand leaning over, reaching…and then BAM.”

The group jumps again, this time due to the young man’s tone.

“The strangers ran into the room, shooting at and killing the monster. The boy rolled under the bed, so he only saw a brief glance of the creature, and he’s never forgotten its face: it was like nothing he’d ever seen before in this life. The boy had survived, his brother got better, and the two strangers left town. But nothing was the same after that. Because the boy now knew what was out there, and the world became a much scarier place after that.”

The young man falls silent. Nobody moves for a few beats, and then the girl shakily says. “Good story, Michael.”

“Thanks,” Michael says, leaning over to grab a beer. “I told you it was good.”

“You said it was a true story,” another boy says. “Who’d it happen to?”

Michael takes a sip of beer. “Who do you think?” He says.


	19. Pour One Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first drink

“You wanna try one, kiddo?”

12 year old Dean looks up from his book. “Wait, really?”

“Really,” John says, smiling. He’s leaning back on the rickety chair, glass in hand. “You’ve been doing pretty good with your Latin, and you’re getting older now. So. You wanna try a sip?”

Dean scrambles off the bed so quick he nearly falls flat on his face. “Yeah!” He says.

John laughs. “Quietly, Dean. Don’t wake up your brother.”

“Yeah,” Dean repeats, quietly this time, and approaches John at the small table.

“Take a seat,” John gestures at the chair across from him and puts the glass down on the sticky table. He waits until Dean is sitting down before sliding the glass across to him. “Take a small sip,” he says.

Dean lifts the glass and instantly tips it back, taking a sip that, while not large, certainly was not small. His eyes bug and he instantly begins to cough.

John laughs, leaning over and grabbing the glass back. “That’s whiskey,” he tells his son, still coughing. “It’s pretty strong stuff. Congrats, kiddo. Next time, though, when I say small sip, make it _small_.”

He’s distracted by a small “what’s goin on?” And eight year old Sammy is sitting up in bed, eyes narrowed from sleep. “Why’s Dean coughing?”

Before John can reply, Dean steps in. “It’s ‘kay, Sammy,” He says, eyes still watering slightly. “I’m good. Go back to sleep.”

Sammy blinks once, nods, then lies back down in bed. John nods at his eldest, tells him proudly. “You’re a man now, kiddo. Nice job.”

* * *

“Dean’s out?” Sam asks.

John looks up from his journal to his just-turned-twelve son. “He’s getting food,” He says, taking a sip of his whiskey. “He’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” Sam says, turning to go back to his bed. John looks back down at his glass and makes a decision.

“Hey,” He says, and Sam turns back around. “Wanna try some of this?”

Sam blinks. “The whiskey?”

“Yeah,” John says. “It’s about time to start, don’t you think?”

Sam’s face twists up. “Isn’t it illegal?” He asks, worried.

John’s surprised into a laugh. “You’re not going into a bar, son,” He says, amused. “You’re just taking a sip of whiskey from your old man. It’s okay. Anyway, even if it was, who’s going to tell?”

Sam gives a strained smile. “Okay.”

John holds out his glass, and Sam comes over and take it out of his hand. He brings the glass up to his nose and sniffs at it, face contorting. “It’s strong,” He says.

John nods. “Can’t try it through your nose,” He says. “Small sip.”

Sam cautiously brings the glass to this lips and take a quick sip. His face contorts again as the sensation hits him. “Wow,” He says, giving a small cough.

John holds out his hand, and Sam returns the glass to him. “Congrats, kiddo,” He says. “You’re a man now.”

Sam gives another strained smile. “Thanks, dad,” He says.


	20. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the places the Winchesters have called home


	21. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's how they deal

Dean’s pacing outside the Bunker’s hospital room.

It’s a stressful position to be in in the best of times, having Sam injured in there and hoping that Cas is able to heal him fully. But now he’s also saddled with a nervous depowered two-year-old nephilim, which really isn’t helping his nerves any.

Jack isn’t pacing. He’s sitting down, head in his hands, completely still. It’s unusual for the kid, who’s energy reserves are seemingly endless. It’s so unusual that Dean stops in his tracks, considers, then carefully sits down on the floor next to Jack.

If Jack noticed, he says nothing: he stays there, legs curled up, face hidden, back against the wall. Dean clears his throat once, twice: “You okay?”

Jack looks up, and Dean sees his face is tear-streaked. “I’m scared.”

_“Dean!” Sam cries, and Dean snaps right out of his light doze._

_His Dad is at the motel door, back at exactly the time he said he would be. But he looks…not well. His breath is coming out in wheezes, and his mouth and the front of the front of his shirt is covered in blood._

_Dean stumbles out of his bed, past his frozen-in-horror brother and makes it to his dad just before he wobbles and starts to tip over. He catches him, feeling the warmth of the blood on his hands, and lets him fall onto the motel chair._

_Dean knows just by looking at him that he’s going to need a hospital. He also knows that he’s 14 and only just started learning how to drive._

_“Okay,” Dean says, feeling the tears start to blur his vision. “We need to get in the car, okay? Let’s go to the hospital.”_

_His dad grunts, showing signs of awareness, and lifts himself up from the chair on shaky arms. Dean vaguely thinks it’s a relief that he won’t have to carry him himself. “Sammy,” He says, ducking under his dad’s shoulder, ready to lead. “Grab the map, okay? Find the closest hospital for me.”_

_This snaps Sam out of whatever had gotten hold of him. He practically flies over to the road map on the bedside table while Dean takes on his dad’s weight, starts to lead him towards the door._

_**Don’t be scared**. Dean tells himself over and over, hoping it’ll stick that way. **Don’t be scared**._

Dean lifts his hand, pats Jack on the head. “It’ll be okay,” He says. “Sam’ll be fine. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

* * *

Castiel exits the room, shutting the door behind him. He sees Dean and Jack sitting on the floor, and both heads whip towards him as he enters. “Sam’s fine,” He says. “He’s just resting it off. He lost a lot of blood but that’s the only thing that’s left of the wound. I got to him on time.”

Jack sits back, leaning his head on the wall and exhaling loudly. A smile shortly follows.

Dean gets to his feet, stretching his back with a wince. “Thank God. Okay, I’m gonna check in on him real quick.” He looks to Jack. “You wanna come?”

Jack leaps up instantly. “Yes!”

_Castiel watches the young Dean Winchester slowly and painfully lead his father to their car. The boy is keeping it together, but only just._

_“Should we not assist them?” He asks Uriel. “Their father must survive in order for the plan to continue.”_

_“He should,” Uriel responds as the boy lowers his father into the passenger seat. The youngest one runs out, carrying a large sheaf of paper, and jumps right into the back seat. “However, it may not be necessary. Let us see what happens, and we will act accordingly.”_

_Castiel watches Dean crawl into the driver’s seat, grab the wheel, and take a deep breath. He is clearly terrified. “Understood.” He says._

_But as he watches the car jerkily exit the parking lot, he finds himself sharing that emotion._

Castiel watches the pair enter the room. He blows out a breath, taking care of the leftover fear that had suffused his own mind.

* * *

Sam sits up, leaning on the pillows and keeping his eyes shut. He’s dizzy, but he’s feeling alright. Mostly, (like most days), he’s just tired.

Activity at the door makes him open his eyes again. He sees Dean and Jack enter the room, and Jack instantly makes a beeline for him, sitting at the foot of the bed. “How’re you doing?” Dean asks, coming to a stop near the bedside.

Sam smiles, first at Dean, then at Jack. “I’m good,” He says. “Just tired. Cas did a good job”

“He did,” Dean says, and Jack scoots a bit closer. “He said that all you needed was some rest. Then you’ll be good as new.”

“I’m good as new now,” Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Sure you are,” He says. “You always talk to people with your eyes closed, right?”

Ah, shit. Sam opens his eyes again. “Oops. I didn’t notice.”

“Clearly,” Dean says, but he’s interrupted before he can say more.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jack blurts out.

_“He’s okay, right?” Sam asks._

_They’re sitting by their dad in his hospital bed. They’re been in the waiting room for **hours** before the doctors called them over and said that Dad was gonna be okay. Dean had started crying a little when they said that, but he’s refusing to admit that it actually happened._

_“Yeah, he’s gonna be alright,” Dean says. “The doctors said so. He just needs some rest.”_

_Sam nods, then swallows. “Dean?” He says, building up the courage he needs. “That scared me.”_

_Dean doesn’t say anything for a couple minutes. “It’s okay,” He says. “I was here. Everything was gonna be okay.”_

Sam looks at Jack, making sure that he keeps his eyes open. “It’s okay,” He says, glancing at Dean. “You know what? I was scared too.”


	22. I cursed the gloom that set upon us, but I know that I love you so…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The things that were sacrificed

“You understand, right?” John asks.

Dean levers himself into another push-up without a word. Sam, next to him, does the same. But, unlike Dean’s stoic facade, his brother’s silent tears drip from his face.

“You can’t just do these things,” John continues. “You can’t just run away, ditch your training to play. You boys have a duty, you have responsibilities. You have more knowledge than these other kids, and that comes at a price.”

Dean’s arms tremble, but he keeps going. Sam let’s out a sniffle.

John stares out the window. He looks at the rain making patterns on the glass, it’s easier to not have to see this. “You can’t do this again. It doesn’t just put others in danger, it puts you in danger too. And I won’t lose you boys. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean grunts out between pants. Sam remains silent.


	23. Favorite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't all it's cracked up to be

“Because you’re my favorite,” Mrs. Butters says, and Sam can’t hear anything after that.

Favorite.

Most strive towards the title. Sam hates it.

Better to be forgotten than to be loved. Being the favorite has never worked out well for him.

* * *

“Sammy,” Azazel “You’re my favorite.”

He’d been waiting to hear that for so long. Finally being confronted with these words, from that source, only makes him sick.

If this is the only way he gets to be the favorite, he never wants to hear it again.


	24. Family Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't come naturally to him.

“Get up, dude.”

Sam feels his arm get shaken. He groans.

“Wake up or I’ll take your covers off.”

That’ll do it. Sam blinks, trying to shake off the sleepiness. He sits up. “I’m ‘wake”

“Good.” His brother towers over him, too chipper for a nineteen year old at eight in the morning. “Time for some training, kiddo.”

Sam groans again, flopping back down onto the bed.

* * *

Sam finds Dean outside. The winter morning is crisp, and Sam shivers as he makes his way over the frosty grass into the large field behind the motel.

Dean beckons him over. “What took you so long? You style your hair?”

Sam scowls. “No.”

“Suuuure,” Dean says, gesturing towards the shotgun on the ground. “We’re working on your aim today. Dad’s orders.”

Sam looks down at the shotgun, then back up at the cans of Coke that Dean’s arranged a distance away in the field. “I just did that yesterday!”

“Should’ve done better in the werewolf hunt then,” Dean responds. “Anyway, you shouldn’t be complaining. You woulda preferred some stamina training?” He waits for Sam’s mutinous silence, then adds. “Didn’t think so. Let’s go!”

Sam sighs, then picks up the gun. He checks it, takes the ammo Dean hands him and loads the gun. It’s all second nature by now: what’s important is actually hitting those cans. If he can’t hit small stationary objects, as Dad likes to remind him, how’s he gonna hit things that’re moving?

Sam lifts up the shotgun, trying to get used to the weight. The handgun he usually carries doesn’t have the same weight issue, and he’s hyper aware that it’s the drag of the heavy weapon that usually causes him to miss. He keeps both eyes on the first can, adjusts his weight, talks himself into it…then pulls the trigger.

The weight of the recoil surprises him, as always, and the shotgun jerks ever so slightly and Sam knows before he sees it that he’s missed. The kick of dirt just to the left of the can milliseconds later confirms it.

“Remember the weight,” Dean says, watching closely. “It always gets you on the first shot. Sometimes you can’t afford to lose the first shot.”

“I know,” Sam says, readjusting. Every time. This gets him every time.

He refocuses, zones in on the can. He lets the weight of the weapon guide him, and takes the shoot before he can psych himself out further.

He lowers the shotgun just as he sees the can fly back, and hears Dean whoop behind him a second later. “Great shot, kid!” He hears, just before Dean slaps his shoulder. “That was one in a million!”

Sam shakes him off. “I’m holding a gun, dude! And do you really have to say that _every_ time?”

“Aw, come on dude,” Dean says. “You’re saying you don’t get hyped by Star Wars? But seriously, that was a good shot. We may make a Winchester out of you yet!”

Sam just gives him a smile, but it feels strained. _I thought I already was_ , he thinks, as he takes aim again.


	25. Villain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Winchester, 1x17 "Hell House"


	26. Walk of Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't always go well

A slamming door wakes him.

Sam instantly shoots up, reaches under his pillow, and starts to pull out his gun before his brain registers _Dean_ and his adrenaline subsides so fast he practically deflates.

He glances at the clock, 8AM, then something in his brain registers and whips his head back around to Dean, who continues to stomp angrily into the motel room. Except, well, it’s kind of hard to _stomp_ in just socks, underwear, and a white t-shirt…which is exactly what Dean has entered the motel room wearing.

Oh, this is gonna be _good_.

“Looks like you had fun last night,” Sam says, and Dean passes by without looking at him and slams the bathroom door shut.

“She stole my clothes!” Dean says through the door, righteously irate.

“What?” Sam asks, fighting a losing battle against a smile.

“You heard me,” Dean says, voice muffled. “That girl at the bar? With the blue streak in her hair? Yeah, I spent the night and _fell asleep_. See, _this_ is why you never fall asleep!”

Sam hears the shower start to turn on. “What happened?” He says, yelling to be heard over the running water.

“I woke up,” Dean says. “And the room was empty. And my clothes were gone, and my wallet! Dude, thank God I walked there or the car would’ve been gone too.”

Wait. “Dude, did you _walk across town_ like that?”

The silence behind the running shower feels fumingly intentional.

Sam can’t help it anymore and starts to chuckle. “Did the old lady at the front desk see you?”

The continuation of the silence makes him laugh so hard that he gets hiccups. Worth it.


	27. Banquet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happiness comes from the smallest places

“Guess what?”

Sammy’s head pops up from behind his book. He’s seven and he’s already devouring them. “What?”

Dean grins, waving around a ten-dollar bill. “Look what I got.”

Sammy’s eyes widen and he puts down his book. “Wow! Where’d you get that?”

“Mowed the lawn of that lady down the street,” Dean says. “Wanna do some shopping?”

“Yeah!” Sammys says, leaping out of bed.

They go to the gas station two blocks away.

They had both eyed the shelves when they had entered town. Dad had gone in to get some essentials and waved them away from the candy aisle, like always. _We don’t have the money_ , he’d say. _I’ll get you something good from the diner_.

Now, though, they have the money. And Dad’s out, for at least the rest of the day. So they go right to the shelves and count: a couple of bags of skittles. A snickers bar. Two Hershey’s bars. Sour patch kids. Swedish fish. Tootsie pops. Jellybeans. Oreos. All carefully chosen, debated over, and budgeted with 30 cents left to spare.

They just about run back to the motel, each carrying a bag and already arguing over how to divide up the loot. They pile up all the candy on the motel table and stand back, surveying the the goods.

“We got ourselves a banquet here, Sammy,” Dean says, and Sammy gives him a bright grin.


	28. Hellscape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this is what it looks like

They’re walking through the hallways, amongst the screaming and smoke and the tunnels that always seem to be closing in on them, when Sam finally comments “So this is Hell, huh?”

Bobby looks at him. “Well, yeah,” He says, walking by a portal to nowhere. “Don’t you remember from your own stay?”

“Mine was kinda different,” Sam says, sidestepping a dismembered hand. “It wasn’t really…anything. Just a void. And a lot of uncanny valley. I don’t really remember much about that, to be honest.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Bobby says. Sam feels a pang of guilt, wishing he’d gotten to the trials faster and not let him spend more time here than he had to. “So, what? You’re not impressed with the setup?”

Sam manages a chuckle. “Isn’t it kinda…derivative? Like, exactly what you would expect?”

“Sure,” Bobby says. “I’ll let management know to make it a bit more impressive for ya. I’m sure they’ll take your comments under advisement.”

Sam ducks under a cage of ribs, keeping the smile. “I’ve missed you, Bobby.”

“I’m sorry to say I’ve missed you boys too,” Bobby says. “Now let’s get outta here. I wanna see if Heaven’ll live up to your exacting standards too.”


	29. Fragile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's it like to feel strong?

Sam doesn’t feel right nowadays.

By all accounts, he’s supposed to be at the prime of his life: sixteen year olds typically have a neverending well of energy and fire, are able to stay up at all hours and bounce back from practically any physical ailment.

But he isn’t.

Sam is constantly tired, constantly achy. It’s like he never has the energy to do anything, and he actively has to work to overcome his exhaustion to get things done. He sleeps way more than normal, and he just feels like he’s…drifting. Like he’s lost. Fragile.

He can’t help but be jealous of Dean. He always seems to take to things easy. He doesn’t have to talk himself out of bed most mornings.

Dean just tells him he’ll grow into it. Sam isn’t so sure.

* * *

Sam doesn’t feel right nowadays.

He walks through every day through a fog of anger and grief and dread, with only Dean to pick him up when it all gets to be too much.

The visions give him headaches, but the truth is that they never go away. They’re always simmering in the background, pounding away at his brain until he can’t think anymore. He’s always scared when the pain increases, because what he sees is always inevitably worse than what he feels.

After he kills the yellow eyed demon, maybe it’ll all go away.

* * *

Sam doesn’t feel right nowadays.

He’s seeing things that aren’t there. Voices talk in his head but he can’t understand them, can’t even tell them apart, and it makes it difficult to hear what’s going on in the outside world too.

He’s pretty sure things aren’t going well. The Impala’s not there and Dean’s too quiet and too loud and Cas isn’t coming back and Bobby is…well, they’re alone and things are falling apart around them but Sam can’t find a stable enough thought in his mind to confirm that. He’s scared that what he’s experiencing isn’t actually reality, but the hell that exists only within his own mind.

These days, it’s getting harder to tell the difference.

* * *

Sam feels amazing nowadays.

It’s such a relief, especially on the heels of the trials, which honestly have been one of the most physically taxing things he’s ever experienced. They had been eating him up inside and out, and he felt like he was going to shatter in a million pieces whenever he got touched.

Sure, some things still twinge when he walks and sure, sometimes it’s like he can still hear a voice in his head and sure, Dean still looks at him sideways like he isn’t confident that he’s okay, but all of that’s minor. He has no headaches, he’s not constantly tired, and he’s not looking through a fog of constant misery.

If this is what it means to not be fragile, Sam hopes it never goes away.


	30. Dress-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's scary season!

“Uh,” Sam says.

Jack stands before him, chest puffed out, pride shining in his eyes. He’s dressed in baggy yellow and green pants, with matching shirt, too-big red shoes, and an accompanying red foam nose and large white wig. “Do you like it?” He asks.

“It’s,” Sam tips his head to the side, trying not to react. “It’s good. Did Dean tell you to wear it?”

“Yup!” Jack says brightly. “He said you’d like it. He said it’s your favorite Halloween costume.”

Sam’s lips twitch. “Did he?” He says. “You know what? Let’s get into the spirit. Go hide under the library table, and when I say ‘now’, jump out and scare him, okay?”

Jack’s eyes light up. “Yeah!” He says, turning around and running off before Sam can react. He shakes his head, smirks, then walks off to find Dean. Justice will be swift, he decides.


	31. Carry On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What now?

Dean sits in the Impala.

It’s a bright morning. The lines streams through the open garage door and the immaculately clean windshield, warming his face and letting him bask in the unseasonably warm sun. He closes his eyes.

He stays that way for a few minutes before he hears a soft knock at the window. He opens his eyes to Sam, standing at the driver’s side. “Hey. Eggs’re done, just so you know.”

Dean nods. “I’m coming,” He says.

* * *

He comes into the Bunker’s kitchen, which seems to have absorbed some of the warmth from the outside. There’s three sets of fried eggs on the table. The yolk looks a tad overdone but mostly alright. Jack’s already happily munching at one, Sam sits beside him, clearly waiting. He looks up as Dean enters, and gestures to the empty seat next to him. “Come on,” He says.

Dean takes his seat, pulling the plate towards him. It’s better than he thought. Nicely seasoned.

The sound of cutlery on the plates persists for a few beats more, and then Jack puts his knife and fork down. “I’m done!” He announces.

“Take your stuff to the sink, please.” Sam says. “And wash them well, like I showed you. No powers doesn’t mean no work, remember?”

“I know,” Jack says, still smiling, and runs off probably the happiest kid who’s ever been told to do chores.

Once he’s out of earshot, Dean turns to his brother. “It’s been five days.”

A shadow passes over Sam’s face. “Yeah.”

“I know we said we’d rest,” Dean says. “And it’s nice. It’s great. But I can’t help thinking: what now? Everything we’ve ever done, we’ve ever worked for, is moot now. No ghosts, no angels, no demons, no God, no supernatural. Nothing. Hunting is irrelevant. **_We’re_** irrelevant.”

“Yeah,” Sam repeats.

“It’s everything we’ve ever known,” Dean says, and the deluge in his head takes the opportunity to spill right on out. “Everything we’ve ever been good at. But. It’s gone. What good are we now?”

Sam stays silent, listening to the sound of the kitchen sink running, of Jack’s off-key humming. “I don’t know,” He finally says. “But here we are. And there’s Jack. Don’t you think we owe him, and Cas’ memory, to find out?”

Dean looks back down at his plate. “It’s gonna be hard,” He says.

Sam smiles. “We’ve done harder.”

“Not really,” Dean says. “Not like this. You’re the plan guy, right? So, what do you think? After the vacation and the rest and our toes in the sand. What do we **_do_** , after that?”

Sam leans back in his chair. He smiles again, making the age lines on his face appear more prominent. Dean never thought he’d actually ever see them. “We live,” Sam says. “We figure it out like everyone else. We carry on.”


End file.
